


Heavy Metal Hearse

by A26



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ...Or is he?, British setting, Crematorium Worker Levi, Hearse Driver Eren, Levi has lost a few marbles, M/M, PTSD, Possible OCD, alien invasion au, and a custom plate that reads 'RIP LOL', and is a few sandwiches short of a picnic, ex-military Levi, his hearse has flames on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:51:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A26/pseuds/A26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Eren drives a pimped up hearse and Levi cremates bodies for a living. When aliens invade their peaceful lives, what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Metal Hearse

**Author's Note:**

> This idea literally came to me in a dream and I'm just gonna roll with it. Completely un-edited, splurge of writing inspiration that I had to get out. Enjoy!

I get a lot of looks when I drive across town. Not only because I hold a lot of people up due to my twenty mile per hour amble, a trail of tail-lit cars in my wake, but because of my choice in career. No, I'm not one of those guys who stands out in the high street with a golf sale sandwich board, nor am I a professional nudist. I drive a hearse for funerals. 

It's not just the type of vehicle, but rather the red flames painted all over the bonnet which certainly don't help in deflecting attention. 

I've just made my way back to the funeral home my partner and I own, and he's nowhere to be seen. I head around back and find a post-it stuck to my open laptop - 'gone home'.

Alright then, he's gone home. Looks like I'm finishing off Mrs Kowalski on my own then. Never made a lot of sense to me, having open caskets followed by cremations. Why bother dolling these dead chicks up if we're just gonna turn them into powdery kitty litter? 

Once I arrive home, Levi, my partner, is nowhere to be found downstairs, but I can hear the radio on in the kitchen at the back of the house. He's not in there either, but by the looks of it he's spent the afternoon cleaning. I toe my shoes off after realising he'd probably washed all the floors I'd just walked on, and head upstairs. 

Turning into the bedroom, Levi is sat on his knees beside the lowest drawer of the wardrobe, folding his thongs into neat little squares with his headphones in, delicately arranging all of his clean socks and underwear into those fabric drawer dividers you get from IKEA. The entire wardrobe is immaculately ironed, pressed and folded with military precision. 

Levi's ex-military, and a lot of people don't believe he's completely all there, if you know what I mean. Lost a few of his marbles on the way out of Afghanistan, or whatever. He talks to himself and listens to a lot of radio, convinced he's tuning into secret government wavelengths that only he can hear. Apparently an explosion going off beside him at war granted him the ability to hear things everyone else doesn't. Connect the dots in ways an ordinary person's can't. 

Sure, he's a complete recluse with easily mistaken anxiety issues, OCD or PTSD, which doesn't help with his mental state, but half of the time I feel inclined to believe what he's talking about. I can't exactly prove governmental conspiracy theories, but the man has been correct in predicting a great number of social and political movements during the last few years since he came home from his tour. 

Who would win which elections, when, who would order certain bills to pass and exact dates. Upcoming terrorist attacks, death tolls, natural disasters, numbers and words and names down to the exact figure. It's frightening how accurate his ramblings are, especially since they keep coming true. 

To keep his mind busy on anything other than predicting the end of the world, we set up a funeral home, somewhere both of our skills could produce any profit. My creative and interpersonal skills combined with Levi's strict cleanliness, precision and attention to detail regarding numbers and money, we got ourselves a winner. He deals with back of house, I deal with the front. 

We mainly get business from the city's alternative crowd. People who want a little kick at their loved one's funeral, heavy metal at the ceremony, send offs to Lucifer, the works. Not that it bothers either of us, so long as they pay up. 

Levi looks up at me for a short moment before dutifully returning to the folding of his ironed socks. At least he's bothered to acknowledge me today. I sit on the end of the bed and place a hand on his shoulder. 

"What are you listening to?" I ask. 

"Smooth. Gotta make 'em smooth," Levi mumbles, seemingly to himself. Glancing down at his phone on the floor, I notice the radio station is 'Smooth FM', and Levi was referring to the flattening out of his socks, palming them flat against his leg before folding them into thirds and tucking them into the little white compartments within the drawer. 

He gets up abruptly once finishing with his laundry and sets the empty basket beside me, leaning over to peck me on the lips, looking me right in the eye. 

"We need to prepare, Eren." I furrow my brows, confused. It's not unlike him to come out with apparent rubbish, but having lived with him for years, I've learnt that he never wastes his words, no matter how far fetched they may seem. 

"What for?" 

"Aliens." 

"What?" 

"Fill the hearse with the guns. We're gonna need them." Guns? Since when did Levi keep guns? I thought they were illegal in Britain? Does he have a license for them? Levi gets up, interrupting my line of thought and pulls on a tie hanger within the closet, the entire inside opening up to a LED lit gun cabinet. My jaw naturally hits the floor, gawking at my boyfriend. 

In my inability to form words at the new development, Levi helps me out. 

"There is a foreign space craft on its way to Earth. In our language it would translate to a 'World Destroyer', and that is precisely what this life form has in mind for our planet. Lest we stop them or get off the planet before they succeed."

Still unable to speak, Levi grabs my hands and crouches between my legs, looking up at me and squeezing my hands. He'd never been wrong before with his crazy predictions, so the sudden sense of urgency hits me like a brick to the face. 

"How much time have we got?" I ask.

"Fourteen hours and twenty seven minutes, eight seconds." 

Flummoxed by his accuracy and still disbelieving, I stare down at him, unsure of how to process the information. 

"Eren, look at me." I do.

"Look, if we live through this, we'll finally get married like you always wanted, yeah?" My face scrunches up at his words, the gun cabinet glowing behind him on his knees between my legs, holding my hands. He reaches over to his sock drawer and pulls something out, popping open a small velvet box with a simple ring inside. 

"I'd meant to do this under different circumstances, but if we survive an alien invasion of earth, will you marry me?" 

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? "Yes?" Oh shit, I said that out loud. 

Looks like we're fighting aliens tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback me!  
> (I'm on tumblr! Agent-2-6)


End file.
